


Serendipity

by VividEscapist



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Humor, New York's Finest Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VividEscapist/pseuds/VividEscapist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Hanson has been having a shitty day—a shitty week actually—and he is now alone in the woods without back-up. Someone shows up to lend him a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Serendipity — Интуиция](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12637809) by [Synant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synant/pseuds/Synant)



> I don't think it was ever specified exactly how old Hanson's kids are, but based off their appearances in 1x21, I'd estimate about 5 and 8 years old. That's what I'm going with.

_2010_

So maybe climbing the tree had been a somewhat audacious endeavor. Mike was confident in his ability to climb most trees on a good day, but the relentless headache and merciless fatigue going on in his head were reminding him that today was _not_ one of those. There was also the issue that he was wielding an unfamiliar weapon, and wearing as much protective equipment as SWAT. Oh, yeah—and it was really fucking hot outside.

Mike heard the _snap_ first. Then the pressure under his feet started to give out. Before he could finish mumbling _oh shit,_ Mike felt the grace of gravity pulling him the six feet down to the ground. He managed to twist his body to land on his side—small favors—but he decided that was the end of things he could manage. Besides groaning.

“That looked like it hurt,” a voice called from behind him.

Mike groped quickly for his weapon; the ground in front of him was empty, and a quick glance up at the tree revealed why: while Mike himself had left the tree, his gun had remained, its strap hanging from a branch near where he’d been perched.

“Hey, relax. We’re on the same team.” The person was closer now.

Mike carefully rolled over and pulled himself into a sitting position, hissing at the way his hip throbbed. _Just add that to the list of ailments._ The woman facing him was about his age, brown hair and eyes, and—true to her word—donning the same green arm band that he was.

“That’s a relief. I’d rather not get covered in paint this early on. It’d mess with the camouflage.” He added the last part sarcastically, gesturing to his hastily-planned, brown pants and T-shirt combo.

“Uh-huh. Falling from a tree also tends to screw over subtlety. Are you okay?”

The woman took a step forward, poised to inspect his injuries, but Mike waved her off.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. I’m just really fucking exhausted and would honestly rather stay on the ground and nap.”

“Hm, decent plan,” the woman laughed, “except that will almost guarantee you getting shot.”

Mike looked up at his gun, still hooked on the tree branch. He sighed. “Well, without a weapon I’ll be shot anyway. And I am _not_ trying to climb that again.”

His companion hummed, scoping the area out with a 360-degree turn. “Coast is clear.” She handed Mike her own gun, then approached the tree and started climbing. She reached the necessary branch with just a few quick leaps.

“Damn,” Mike said appreciatively. “I can’t even go that fast when I’m not running on an hour’s sleep.” He took the opportunity to pry himself the rest of the way off the ground, brushing off his pant legs.

The woman hopped down, gun in hand. She shrugged. “I climbed a lot of trees in the park when I was a kid. It was the only why I could outrun by brother.” She swapped their guns.

Mike waited until they had both slung the weapons over their shoulders to offer the woman his hand. “Mike Hanson. And, thanks.”

The woman returned the handshake. “Jo Martinez. No problem.” She paused. “What has you so exhausted anyway? Long hours?”

Mike scoffed. “No. I wish; coffee would fix that. My wife just had our second kid a month ago; he’s still not sleeping through the night, and now our three-year-old is sick with the flu. I’ve forgotten what my bed looks like.”

“Ah.” Jo winced, sympathetically. “Not great timing for a cross-precinct paintball team building exercise, huh?”

“Is there ever a good time for that?” Mike started to feel his headache—which had subsided in the wake of the rest of his body hurting—returning full-force. “But yeah. I’m a little off my game today.”

“I guess that just means we’ll have to stick together.” Jo smiled. “I’ve got your back. Now I suggest we get a move on before we’re ambushed with biodegradable red paint.”

“Right.” Any plan that would help Mike avoid being repeatedly slammed with painful little hell pellets sounded good. He looked around. “Where to?”

“The tree wasn’t a bad idea for sniper shots, but if you’re spotted you’ll have a hard time getting out without taking damage. I saw some good bushes by the lake—that way.” Jo pointed to her right. Grinning, she added, “I was headed there when I heard you having issues.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. Bushes are good. No more trees.” Mike rubbed his side. “You didn’t happen to bring any Ibuprofen, did you? I—”

“Shh!” Jo waved her hand to silence him.

Mike paused, listening intently. After a few seconds he heard it too: there were muffled voices approaching from behind them. Occasional twig snaps. Someone was coming, and given the openness of the clearing they were standing in, by the time Mike and Jo determined which team it was, it would be too late.

Mike made eye contact with Jo. She returned it with a nod. They both took off sprinting in the direction of the lake.

A quarter of a mile later Mike dove into an overgrown bush beside the water.

“Careful—there are rocks,” Jo warned. She crouched beside him.

“I’ll take another injury if it means we can paint a few people. I’m getting into this now.” Mike paused. “Nah, I take that first part back. But I do want to win.”

“Yeah? Keep an eye out.” Jo plucked a few leaves off the bush, clearing an area to look through. “You can go home and tell your kids how you shot a bunch of bad guys at work today.”

Mike snorted. “I don’t know that my wife would agree with calling this ‘work.’ Pretty sure she wanted to trade places with me this morning.”

“What’s her name?”

“Karen.” Mike widened the hole, enough to both aim his gun, and see outside the bush. “How about you? Spouse? Kids?”

“I have a financé—Sean. No kids. Both our schedules are pretty intense for that, but...maybe someday.”

There was a rustling sound and both Jo and Mike quickly turned silent.

It was a squirrel.

“Okay,” Jo said. “We should probably focus.”

They stayed crouched in the bushes for twenty more minutes, alternating as lookouts. The squatting position only grew more uncomfortable, and there were sticks poking Mike in the head, but at least he was being kept awake.

Around minute twenty-one of their ingenious hiding spot, they heard more rustling. Human rustling. Mike nudged Jo, pointing as five people wearing blue armbands entered their line of vision. They were still too far back for a decent shot, but coming closer.

“Alright, I get the two on the right, you get the two on the left?” Mike whispered.

“Then we jump out and use the confusion as a distraction to go for number five.” Jo leveled her gun.

“Then we run.” Mike stretched his fingers, tracking the group carefully. “They’re almost close enough. On three?”

Jo nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

_“Three.”_

They both sent a handful of shots in quick succession. Mike got the first person with two paint blobs to the chest, and the second with one to the knee. He scrambled out of the bush, glancing back briefly to make sure Jo was following.

She was already ahead of him. _“Number five,”_ she hissed.

The other group was retaliating now, having identified Mike and Jo’s position. Mike dodged one paintball, but tripped over another that splattered his shoes. He groaned. Following one last-ditch effort for the person in the middle (which hit their arm), Mike ran.

He zigzagged for a while, to avoid both paintballs and trees. He could still hear the blue group members shouting to each other, but it was growing fainter. They either weren’t following him, or they were slower. At least his speed was up to par today.

When he’d finally lost auditory detection of the “bad guys,” Mike stopped. He studied his surroundings, frowning. It’s not that he’d expected himself and Jo to be able to stay together while running like hell, but he was still disappointed that he didn’t see her anywhere. He frowned about that for another minute before realizing that he had bigger problems: he was once again on his own in the woods, and the blue team was travelling in packs of at least five.

It was going to be a long day.

\------------------------------

_2013_

Mike was moderately apprehensive about being assigned a new partner. He was thrilled that the reassignment came due to his old partner retiring—instead of, ya know, being shot—but that wouldn't make the readjustment process any easier. Learning to trust a stranger and depend on them with your life was difficult.

"Glad to meet you when you're not falling out of trees."

Mike whipped around, grinning when he saw the familiar face. _Jo Martinez._ "Hey. Wow. What are you doing here?"

Jo grinned back. "I'm your new partner, it seems."

So maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> Why were they not moving in teams to begin with? Jo was, but her group got attacked and had to scatter. Mike wasn't paying attention because he was too exhausted and lost everybody else like two minutes in. Poor dude.
> 
> The area in question is Sterling Forest State Park, if anyone is wondering. I have never been there but it's and hour and a half from NYC, and the pictures look nice.


End file.
